


Talk to You

by charcoalscenes



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: The only times the two of them get along is when they speak in shared moments instead of exchanged words. Allison once told him, “You’ve never said one nice thing to her,” and he’d tried to wrack his brain for one example that could've proven her technically wrong. He hadn’t been able to.(Post-season 2. Chapters may be standalones but with continuity to each other, and tags/warnings/rating will be updated should things change or progress. Enjoy!)
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Vanya Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves
Comments: 7
Kudos: 144





	Talk to You

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if this will stay a single oneshot but I'm hoping to get at least two or three more snippets with these two. In any case, hope you guys like it!

Diego doesn’t miss his old apartment for long. In little time, the room he keeps to himself in the modest rental he shares with Luther and Klaus looks nearly the same. (Same person, same type of mess, he supposes.) This time, though, it feels less alone – though he’d never admit to having such a sentiment even if he were on his deathbed. 

Some of Klaus’s belongings have snuck into his space, which sucks, honestly. It’s something Diego hasn’t had to deal with since all of them were young and living under one roof, but he finds that it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as he’d have thought it still would. Though he still gives Klaus (and even Luther, on rarer occasions) shit over it. 

One thing that gets them all through the adjustments is telling themselves that this is all temporary, just until they find a way to sort this new mess out. In the back of his mind, in the back of most of their minds, maybe, is that this isn’t the worst case scenario to be trapped in, anyway – that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be stuck in this version of the universe forever. They’ve all lived through the apocalypse (two, supposedly, though only Five remembers), they’ve all had to mourn for Ben, Allison’s had to mourn losing her own daughter, and Five had to spend decades alone in a dystopia. Nothing about where they all are now is ideal, but in comparison to most other things that could have or already happened, there are moments between self-appointed assignments and team brainstorming where it feels almost like a break. 

Like now. Diego woke up to the apartment all to himself. He’s texted Klaus asking where he is and still hasn’t gotten a response in over an hour later. Luther usually has the sense to leave a note, at the very least, whenever he bolts on short notice. This morning, the whiteboard stuck on the fridge reads a succinct, “Meeting with Five. Luther.” 

Diego has an impulse to call him solely to snap about being left out of whatever they’re scheming, but he woke up soft, lulled by the quiet and the stillness and the transparent gold of morning sunlight that’s flooded the apartment. So, he makes himself breakfast, grooms himself in the mirror, kicks a few of his brothers’ things that they’ve left on the floor aside as a half-hearted indirect punishment. He dresses and steps outside. 

Domesticity has never been his thing, though unlike what the sorry excuses for therapists in the sixties tried to tell him, it’s less about an inability to wind down than it is because there’s always been a reason for him (for all of them, in the Academy) to  _ not _ wind down. There was always training, there was always crime, and then there were the consecutive ends of the world. The whole reason he’d kept Eudora at arm’s length was because he knew he would never be genuine boyfriend material for someone like her anytime soon – someone who  _ could _ put down the gun and the job and the tension when she comes home, and who would expect a partner to do the same. Lila felt safer at first because she carried her weight, whatever it was, as constantly as Diego’s been trained to carry his. 

But he’s known the appeal of downtime, and knows he could fall into it from whenever he allows himself to try. Mom showed him the appeal and comforts of normal living before he felt it from much anything else. It consisted of warmer food and warmer smiles, even if they were machine-based. It consisted of snippets of playtime that didn’t have to revolve around sparring – boardgames played just for fun, Allison talking to him and Klaus about her favorite books, Klaus talking to Diego and Ben about the particularly trashy ones, Vanya playing any instrument other than the violin – anything that didn’t have a tie to dad. Playing in a band. 

The rental that she shares with Allison and Five is kept neater than its counterpart. Diego waits for the door to buzz after ringing the bell for their place, then climbs the stairs to the third floor when it lets him in. He didn’t call ahead and he doesn’t know who might be in, but by all means, this may have been where Klaus ran off to. If asked, that’s the reason he’d say he’s come by, but the truth is that his feet led him here. He has no leads today, and for once, he isn’t chasing after one, or itching for one to chase after him. There’s nothing that he absolutely has to do today. 

He hears footsteps approach the door when he knocks and recognizes them. The pace and weight of them has changed the least over the years compared to the rest of the team’s. Diego intentionally peers into the door’s peephole, imagining Vanya pausing to check who’s stopping by, and after a beat, the bolts unlock. Vanya’s smile is small the way almost everything about her is small, physically, and she sounds almost surprised when she greets, “Hey, Diego.” 

“Hey.” He replies, and as Vanya moves to let him in, asks, “Who’s home?” 

“It’s just me.” She says. The door is locked behind them. “Five had something to do – something to do with dad– or, well, whoever he is right now, I guess. Allison wanted to check on something on her own.” 

“Claire?” He guesses. He can only imagine what it’s like to go through something like this with a kid to worry about. “Do you know where Klaus is?” He asks, making a line for the kitchen. 

Instead of answering, Vanya says, “Oh, stop. Allison doesn’t want shoes in the house.” 

Diego does stop, turning around, and responds in kind. “She what?” 

“Shoes make the floor dirty. See?” Vanya gestures down. Her socks are mismatched, he sees, one off-white and the other yellow. Beside the door are a few pairs of footwear. “We already went through the effort to clean. So, do you mind?” 

“Do I mind? What am I supposed to walk on?” Despite the objection, he does as she asks, coming over to kick off his boots and place them next to a pair of worn-out sandals. “Don’t like shoes in the home. Ridiculous. This isn’t a  _ home _ .” 

“It is for now.” She smiles wider now, and silently leads him to the kitchen. It’s smaller here than it is where Diego stays with the others, Five having a room to himself while Vanya and Allison share another. Vanya takes two glasses from the counter while Diego takes it upon himself to inspect the contents of their fridge. “I don’t know where Klaus is.” She answers belatedly, watching him sneer at a bottle of cranberry juice. “Should we be worried?” 

“Probably not. If he takes too long to answer a damn text, I can track him down.” Each of them can hold their own, but Klaus has, for a while, been a sort with whom it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on. Diego settles for a pitcher of water. “Luther is out there with Five.” 

“Yeah, he told us.” Vanya says, her gaze following Diego’s movements. 

He sets the water down on the kitchen table, settles on one of the only two chairs, and immediately pitches back, not falling but grabbing quick onto the table’s edge to balance himself. “What the fuck.” He stands quickly and glares at the chair behind him. 

“It’s broken.” Vanya tells him. 

“It’s broken. It’s  _ broken? _ ” His glare swivels at her; her lips barely twitch, but her eyes give it away that she’s laughing at him. “Unbelievable. Where do you eat? Where do you sit?” 

“In the living area.” 

“There chairs in there, yeah? Chairs that work? You keep this one here for, what? This the special chair you might as well keep? For guests?” 

“It’s just for you.” Her mouth finally cracks, gloating openly at her own jab, and she takes the two glasses with her past the kitchen and towards the single couch in the other room. Diego makes it a statement to not follow her there right away, and gives the offensive piece of furniture behind him one last kick while she isn’t looking before taking the water with him to join her. 

At the very least, there are snacks here on the table. Vanya sits down first and pats the cushion next to her, assuring him, “It’s safe.” 

He lets his ass fall on the couch with as much indignation as he can, pouring his own drink and reaching for the first open bag of chips he sees. 

“Five did some shopping.” She supplies. 

When Diego catches her pointing at the bag he’s holding, he already has the mind to refuse any request to share with her, but she doesn’t ask. Belatedly, a chip coated with artificial cheese floats out of the bag, steadily gliding between them and closing in on her mouth. 

Diego does the only sensible thing he can think of and grabs it before it reaches her, shoving the piece in his own mouth to chew it in front of her. 

“It’s really not healthy to keep grudges.” She tells him. 

“Don’t wanna hear that from you.” He says, and almost regrets it. But it doesn’t seem to phase her, and she’s already turning to move the pitcher of water without the use of her hands, the two of them watching as she pours herself a glass with her powers alone. “You been practicing?” 

“Making up for lost time.” She says, but for all that lost time, she’s seemed to have gotten a good hang of it. 

A full glass of water is lifted gracefully into the air with nothing visible holding it up, and Vanya reaches for it only for that, too, to be taken by Diego. He takes the first gulp. “Thank you.” He says. 

She flicks a hand, and suddenly Diego’s face is wet with half a glass’s worth of a splash. 

Again, Vanya’s face is almost steady. “I don’t have a full grasp of it yet. Still practicing. I’ll get you a towel.” 

“You do that.” He doesn’t look up as she stands to see if she’s grinning or not, but when she’s out of earshot, he laughs, short quiet huffs so she won’t hear, but he grins wide enough that it makes up for the lack of volume. His own reaction surprises him. He hasn’t felt this carefree around Vanya since they were kids. He hasn’t felt completely carefree at all much lately. 

The back of his mind registers that he’s alone with someone who can act as a bomb, but right now, the most she’s doing is trying to annoy him.  _ Making up for lost time. _

It isn’t so much a towel that she comes back with, or even a paper towel, but a single napkin, probably the cheapest that someone can find in a store, and probably at a suspiciously low discount, too. “What is this?” Diego demands as he holds it up, the smile completely wiped from his face. 

“Five did the shopping, I said.” She says in way of explanation. “He isn’t the best at picking stuff out, I guess. Sorry.” 

“This is a single piece of toilet paper.” He dabs himself in the face as she takes the seat beside him again. This time, she uses her hands to reach for their snacks, and finally munches on some. 

“Don’t forget your hair.” 

“Don’t forget my hair.” He mocks her, grumbling, but attempts to dab the strands nearest to his face as well. Giving up, he throws the thin sheet on the table and removes his sweater, light as far as sweaters go, but it has a world of difference in soakability. 

He dries his face off completely with it before throwing it on the arm of the chair, and Vanya has the nerve to comment, “Allison hates messes.” Diego doesn’t deign to give that any sort of verbal response, only shooting her a wide-eyed glare and holding that stare while he grabs a new bag of chips and rips that open. 

For all she’s worth, she meets his eyes and falters only in the way of letting more laughter enter them. He keeps any indication of appreciation for it stifled down, but he wonders if she can tell by looking at him. She looks good merry. 

“Why didn’t you go with Five?” He asks, mouth chewing openly. “He didn’t invite you?” 

“He did, actually. I opted to pass on this one, is all.” 

That surprises him. “Why?” Granted, it’s easier than it’s been in a long time to speak not just with Reginald but with Ben. There’s less urgency to see everyone and everything that none of them were properly able to see before, and at least their former father and former brother will likely still be here, alive and intact, to see tomorrow, to meet with days after. There’s less desperation. 

He wonders if Vanya shares the same sentiments. She mulls over the question, then says, “I wanted the day off.” 

“A day off? Heroes don’t get days off.” 

He pops another chip in his mouth. “What are you doing here?” Vanya challenges. 

Once more, he chews openly. “Looking for Klaus. Checking up on you. Hero stuff.” 

“Good job.” She drawls. “You’re doing great so far.” 

“I know.” 

She looks rested, too, at ease and slouching on the couch in the easy way one does after they’ve become friends with the piece of furniture they’re on. It  _ does _ feel more comfortable here than what Diego shares with the others, but it might just be the quiet of it all. The question of why Vanya needed a day off is on the tip of Diego’s tongue, but he knows that voicing it could open a whole can of worms he isn’t sure he’s ready to handle with Vanya. 

He remembers the last moment of quiet he shared with her, the way they sat next to each other just like this, wordless and both worlds away. Allison once told him, “You’ve never said one nice thing to her,” and at the time, he’d tried to wrack his brain for one example he could’ve thrown her way to prove her technically wrong. He hadn’t been able to. He isn’t sure if he’d be able to now. 

Part of him wonders if it’s because of this – because the only times when the two of them get along is when they speak in shared moments instead of exchanged words, if all they’ll understand from one another is quiet company and tired heads on shoulders. 

She turns and looks at him, her eyes direct and pulling his gaze to meet hers, this time without banter or outward prompt, acknowledging him just for the sake of it, and Diego recognizes, then, that the silent language they share could be enough if not for times like this: When the silence stops being companionable or finite to the point of briefness, when they stop staring away at a horizon and actually look at each other, and Diego finds himself unequipped to bridge any sort of gap. He hasn’t had many words for her over the years. Before, she simply never belonged. Suddenly, they all need to be here for her now that she does.  _ He _ needs to be here. 

When her brow furrows, he knows she’ll try to fill the silence. For most of their shared time together, that’s never been a good idea, and he isn’t sure if she’s aware of that, not with everything that’s happened with her recently. Topics between them have consisted of unwanted books, unwanted company, and unwanted life circumstances, and he nearly braces himself for any of those issues to crop up again. 

“You know what I realize?” She asks, and takes his silence as a sign to continue. He’s stopped eating, simply peering at her. She takes a deeper breath, and says. “I don’t remember everything.” 

She says it with the same mildness she’s talked about the proper mustard-to-bacon ratio on a sandwich, and so Diego doesn’t gather the weight or meaning of her statement right away. “What do you mean?” 

“Nothing big, I think. It’s smaller things.” She continues. “Like. I forgot what Five’s favorite brand was.” She waves at another open bag of chips on the table, nearly empty of its contents. “He devoured a few as soon as he came back from shopping. He said it took him forever to spot it because they changed the logo’s design since he’s last had it. And it’s only then that the memories came back. Nothing big, just of him eating it, or sharing with me. But before that moment, the memory wasn’t out yet, like all the other stuff – like it was still stuck in a box somewhere and not opened.” 

She waits for him to say something, then, patiently and not in some desperate, pleading way that people do when they worry something’s wrong with them. Diego lets the information sink in before he asks, “What else?” 

“That’s the most obvious example. But the whole thing with the shoes; I remember Allison used to talk about that, and hygiene in the house when she was living with Patrick. Like, there are memories that you just recall normally, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t in a shelf somewhere. These, though – they were in a shelf somewhere. I don’t think I unpacked everything yet.” 

“If you don’t remember everything yet, then how do you know you still haven’t remembered anything big?” He knows it’s the sensible thing to ask, but he doesn’t sit well with feeling worried about it. His mind jumps to anything in the past that might’ve counted as  _ big _ , between the two of them, but willingly flitting through their past only shows him countless little nicks and scratches between the two of them.  _ Put it all together, and it’s one big fuckup _ . 

Vanya shrugs. “It doesn’t feel like I’m missing anything big.” She answers. “I felt it, when I didn’t remember anything, that I was missing so much of myself. It doesn’t feel that dramatic anymore, so it must be smaller stuff.” 

“Do you remember the apocalypse?” 

“I remember you were the best with words, out of all of us.” She hums, staring into her glass thoughtfully. “You always knew the right things to say.” 

“Okay. That’s good.” Does she remember this is the first time she’s cracked this many jokes with him in the last decade, maybe more? “That’s progress. So, you’re not worried?” 

“Oh, I never said that.” She laughs, different this time, this type more familiar but not in a nice way; wry and sardonic than with much humor. Then, her expression shifts, and she squints sideways at him. “Are  _ you  _ worried?” 

“Why would I be worried?” How well would she react if the thousands of nicks and scratches haven’t come out of their boxes yet, only for them to blow open all at once? Would it be like pandora’s?  _ Unlikely _ , Diego thinks; not enough to set off another massive bomb, but maybe enough that this Vanya, the one baiting him into falling ass-first on the kitchen floor and throwing drinks at his face, would retreat into herself again, the way he’s always egged her into retreating from him. 

He  _ likes _ this Vanya, the one who he’s just gotten to knowing in the past few weeks. He’s never going to say it, probably not even if she does start avoiding him again, but suddenly facing the risk of her absence again, emotionally, almost makes him want to say, “Leave the boxes in your head that you haven’t touched yet closed.” 

Vanya stands up, abruptly, and Diego begins to flounder at the possibility that his face was too transparent, that it gave too much away, that just as quick as he hoped it wouldn’t happen, it’s happened, and Vanya’s never going to show him up with her powers or prank him into bodily harm or humiliation ever again. She fidgets with the glass of water in her hands, and in the process of looking at her helplessly, Diego realizes that the hints of unease have little or nothing to do with him. Her mouth gaps open perpetually, a sign that she’s about to speak, but she’s still searching for the words. 

He waits, expectant, but as patient just as she was with him a moment ago. 

“I tried not to show it, but in the whole time since meeting you guys again, before I remembered everything, you guys were freaking me out a bit.” 

“We do that, yeah.” Diego supplements, nodding. 

“I found out so quickly that I was the reason for the end of the world. So, the worst was out of the way. But the more you guys talked about me, and each other, and dad… You made everything sound so  _ bad _ .” 

Diego just says, “Yeah,” because saying anything more than that would come across as nothing short of adding, “Duh.” There’s little comfort to give any of them once the prospect of comfort treds even marginally closer to denial. Their collective childhood was a shitshow, perhaps Vanya’s more than his own. Most of the time, as a kid, everything did feel exactly as she’s said. Bad. 

“After the apocalypse thing, and seeing that we got through that, I thought, well, since that’s out of the way, at least, maybe I can stand to remember everything else. I still wanted to. Just…” She cringes, finally placing the glass down, as though worried she’d be so caught up with reminiscing that it would spill. “Just not all the time.” 

No one would blame her, though part of him feels the accusation bloom regardless of whether or not he’ll actually hurl it at her. “It would be like running away if you chose not to remember,” he thinks but doesn’t say aloud, and besides, she’s likely already thinking it herself. 

“Well,” he says, throwing a hand up in an empty gesture. “Too late now.” 

It’s levity that doesn’t work, but thankfully doesn’t seem to hurt either. He’s never stopped to see how used he is to seeing Vanya be  _ not _ like this, how he’s used to seeing her face fall and turn away whenever he takes a stab at any show of vulnerability. Unbeknownst to her, he shifts at the direction his thoughts have taken him, clearing his throat to get his bearings, and if she notices the discomfort, it’s probably chalked up to his attempt at humor failing. 

“Five told me to keep trying. Like I would get my memory back if I  _ tried  _ hard enough?” At that, she laughs, throwing Diego a glance like she told a joke. If she did, he doesn’t get it, but she goes on rather than focus on him drawing a blank. “But he was so sincere. He told me it’s not all bad – but he never gave me an example. Just said there were good memories we shared too, so I wouldn’t be scared to unlock them all, I guess.” 

“You told him you were scared?” Diego blurts out. It sounds ridiculous as soon as it leaves his mouth, and he almost wishes he could shove it back in. But it’s a valid question, he thinks. They were all so  _ busy _ , and when Vanya made it clear she was happy being away from the rest of them, with Sissy, they’d all let her be. It was the least they could do for her. How did Five manage to get enough time with her that she could tell him something as deep as this? 

Vanya nods, at once going complacent. “Yeah, I did.” She goes to sit next to him again, settling, fingers still fidgeting but not as tightly. “He was nice about it. He’s been nice almost all the time with me. It was easy to tell him.” 

“When? He was jumping around a lot. I…” He fades off, his mind pulling him in multiple directions at once. One part thinks to say (though he doesn’t), “ _ I _ couldn’t even get a word with him.” He also feels tempted to say, “I was around more often than he was,” but he knows what that sounds like. He also knows that he hadn’t had any mind to carry anyone else’s problems on top of his own at the time. 

(He never does. That statement shakes him and so he returns the favor by shoving the thought aside. He’s a busy man, and they’re all grownups. Of course he’s not helping anyone else carry their weight.) 

When Vanya shrugs again, he finds his eyes lingering on her shoulders, small and narrow even when they’re not taut tight around her, her arms scrawnier than Five’s, and her height a match to his despite the difference in the age of their bodies. 

It used to infuriate Diego how fucking small she is. It’s become lost on him since finding out how much power she’s holding in such a tight package, but the lack of a growth spurt in her had always highlighted how she didn’t belong with the rest of them; too much of a risk, a liability. Bad guys could crush her in an instant. 

He’d appointed himself to give her the hardest time about it, and after all the years of worrying he’d have to take a bullet for her someday, it turns out he gave her a hard time for nothing. The flick of her hand could open his throat as easily as it could play with a glass of water. 

That’s the Vanya who’s eyes go white and whose face stills like stone at enough provocation, though. “I got a minute in with him at Eddie’s place.” Says this Vanya, the one who Diego hasn’t had a real conversation with in years until lately. This Vanya is someone who he was told to call sister but who he just barely knew. She was always so quiet, after all; so, he just thought she was weird.  _ Drugged _ , he remembers learning. He hasn’t wrapped his head around it.  _ All the time. _ “I think he decided to check on me because I wasn’t hiding how it bothered me to be there.” She says. 

“Around us?” He chances asking. Even without memories, the team is an awkward bunch, and maybe another part of her that isn’t just her brain – something deeper, her soul – remembered how hard it was for her to be around all of them. 

A few months ago – hell, maybe as little as a few weeks or days ago – that thought would’ve set him off.  _ Poor Vanya _ , he’d used to silently mock;  _ always the odd one out _ and grousing to herself over it, nursing hurts until they grew into written words, then shared unsolicitedly with the rest of the world. 

Now? She squints almost like she’s expecting him to bark at her or lose it, but says anyway, “Yeah.” She’s always  _ saying things anyway _ , staring at people she thought were stronger and meaner than her and  _ outing them all _ anyway, be it from spite or loneliness – but rarely has Diego allowed himself to silently give her credit for her speaking out and calling it brave. 

She goes on when Diego doesn’t snap, while she doesn’t realize he’s sitting there a little too caught up with his own muddlement at this exchange. “Don’t get me wrong; you were all a lovely bunch. It’s just– It wasn’t just the situation at hand, you know. It was just that, even without the prospect of doom raining down on us, even if things were normal, you guys could sound pretty, uhm, negative.” 

“And now you remember why!” He does snap this time, but not in anger so much as chagrin. 

Vanya seems to get that, because she laughs. It’s the kind that’s sudden, unexpected, and spit out, her face contorting in disbelief at his response, and then she lets herself continue to laugh openly, loud and higher than what she usually sounds. She stares to the side as she does, like Diego’s just given her a punchline, and so she doesn’t see him gawk at her just as openly as she smiles. The last time he gawked at her, she was white and flying, pulsing over an army that would’ve ended his life if she weren’t around. This, though – this is something different, and Diego suspects, more important. 

He can’t remember off-hand the last time he’s made Vanya laugh. 

“I guess I do!” She replies as she starts to settle again. When she looks at him, he smiles back, like it’s natural. “We’re so fucked up.” 

“Yeah, we’re a real shitshow.” He huffs. Vanya let out a last bout of chuckles, her attention less on anything her eyesight happens to land on than it is on whatever she’s thinking or still laughing to herself about, but since getting here, the most Diego has honed in on is just her. She hasn’t noticed. He wouldn’t have let himself go on for this long if he caught her noticing. He’s glad she hasn’t. 

The last thing he was really angry at her about is nearly killing him before they were all sent back to the past, and despite how long he’s kept the grudge, it popped like a bubble just as soon as she’d uttered her apology, even if she hadn’t remembered what for. He’d imagined her, at that moment, apologizing for more than attempted homicide. He’d imagined that she was apologizing for writing about them. He’d imagined her apologizing for blaming all of them for her isolation, her quietness. 

Diego shifts again, and this time, she does notice. She stares. It feels like the grudges against her that he used to nurse blew up with the rest of the timeline they all first came from, plummeted by mountain-sized fragments of the moon, turned to rubble under the weight of Vanya’s own story that he barely knew. 

He remembers thinking she was dead, for a moment, and that he’d stopped resenting her for her own pain and started resenting her for the more simple sin of manhandling him – something easier to apologize for, and easier to forgive. 

She smiles again, and there’s something charitable about it, genuine but more for him than anything. “I’m glad I remembered, in the end.” She tells him, nodding some. “I’m glad I’m remembering.” She amends. 

He can’t help but ask, “ _ Are _ you?” It sounds incredulous and cautious. It’d be practical for her to take it back now that he’s given her the chance. He doesn’t know her whole story, he thinks. The same might be said for her, vice-versa, but she knows more about what he’s been through lately than he does of her.  _ She knows more about what he’s been through since they were  _ **_kids_ ** _ than he knew – than any of them knew – about her. _ Diego sometimes went  _ after _ people who drugged kids. He spent most of his life not knowing that about someone he shared a roof with. 

For what it’s worth, she pauses, but her face doesn’t give anything away; not blank, but thoughtful, and reading him more than giving the sort of look one wears when trying to read oneself. He never got the whole story, not the way Allison and Five did. He saw the body of the ex she murdered and didn’t completely understand what the fuck he was looking at, only wishing he could’ve been closer to what happened sooner, even if it meant doing the deed for her. He would have done things better, he thought; killed him tactfully, at least. 

Dad drugged her – for how long, with what? She was conditioned to keep dosing herself onto adulthood. She stopped, met some asshole, got manipulated. The rest is null – quite literally, given that they live in a time wherein nothing that happened to them technically ever happened, but it’s all there, in all their memories, in hers. A whole fucking life under his nose the whole time that he could’ve helped. 

“Hey.” He says instead of urging her to answer. He knows what  _ his _ answer would be, in her shoes, and it’s nothing forgiving. “I, uh. Don’t tell Five I said this. But I, I think he’s right. About there being good memories. I mean, you probably already know this, right? What with getting them back and all?” 

“There are.” Vanya says, and doesn’t elaborate, but Diego finds himself wanting to ask her what those are – how many include him. Do  _ any _ ? 

Another time, though. “I should’ve… I mean. Five was right to check on you. Tell you to be brave about it. I… You should be brave about it. While it’s still going on, I mean.” 

“You think so?” Vanya mulls. “Is it because it’s just the small stuff?” 

“Especially if it’s the smaller stuff.”  _ All the nicks and scratches, though. _ It’s almost tempting to tell her the exact opposite of what he  _ is _ telling her now, of what Five told her, of what she ought to be told. It’s almost tempting to sabotage the incoming memories rather than supporting her grasping them. “Uh, listen.” 

He stops, for too long. Belatedly, he realizes he isn’t up for saying this out loud, but it’s too late now. Vanya’s just on the verge of smirking at his expense (the damn nerve when he’s making a phenomenal effort to reach out to her now) when she prompts him. “I’m listening.” 

“Yeah, okay. You…You ever…” He starts and stops, not quite stuttering, not yet, at least, but he’s determined to say this as best he can. 

He clears his throat once, voice deepening of its own accord, speech slowing of its own accord, too, with the effort. “You’ll find good memories. Like Five’s favorite damn chips. Like sharing pie. They’re there too, with the bad. But, listen. You ever get something bad in your head, that you remember – something you can’t get past, it’s so bad – you…you just call me. Or come over to where I am. If I’m not saving a life or kicking ass, I’ll be there, yeah? In a second. And you just…talk it out. You don’t keep it to yourself, is what I’m saying. You come to me with the bad stuff, we hash it out. Sound good?” 

_ You never said one nice thing to her _ , Allison said. He can prove her wrong now. He can prove that wrong for the rest of their lives, starting today. 

Vanya doesn’t answer, staring at Diego in one of the ways he feared she’d stare at him, like he’s not really Diego, like he’s grown another head or dyed his hair in some neon that doesn’t suit him. Which just won’t do, for him to get this sort of reaction – like being a little soft sometimes doesn’t suit him. Like he can’t say something nice sometimes – to Vanya. This Vanya. It’s been too long. 

He breaks the silence by urging, more strongly. “Hey, we clear?” 

“Wow.” She murmurs, and it sounds like she’s joking, but he can tell she isn’t. “Uhm. Yeah. Yes.” She answers his sincerity quickly and quietly like it’s something fickle that’ll flit away at any moment. “Diego.” She says his name with the same adoration her voice held when she’d asked all of them to help her save Harlan, like his company alone is as valued as the rest of their team’s combined. “Diego.” She says again. “That means a lot to me, you don’t know.” 

“No. No, I know.” He assures her. “I know. I’m a pretty big deal. Maybe from now on, you’ll think twice before giving me the shit seat at the kitchen table. That would be fair.” 

Vanya moves, and Diego isn’t used to this either. Thank everything that no one else is here. He gives no resistance or reluctance at her putting her arms around him, holding herself to his chest in answer. In return, and because it’s just the two of them, he holds her back. She’s small and fits into him. 

He hugs her like it’s natural. Him and Vanya, like this – it all feels like it’s overdue. The way they are now, it’s about time. 


End file.
